What's wrong with Superman's son wanting to be Superman?

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But he knew it was meaningless.

Behind this lies an even larger network.

This "general" is not an individual.

It is a system.

A puppet network controlled by the deep state. Today there are "generals," tomorrow there can be "presidents," "judges," and "scientists."

This is America's greatest enemy.

however.

Even Superman is powerless to do anything about it.

He looked at Sam Lane, whose face was filled with frustration and anger.

“I tried my best,” Sam said softly, his voice filled with deep weariness, “but some people… have long forgotten what the bottom line is.”

Clark was silent for a moment, then finally took a deep breath.

"This is not the end." His gaze swept over the nuclear bombs being transported away, and his super hearing caught the conversation of the five-star general, who was indeed very arrogant.

"Yes, the goods are ready and will be delivered within 24 hours... Don't worry, no one can stop this deal, not even that cloak-wearing fool we all dislike."

"Of course, that's right. There's always been someone to take the blame."

The five-star general is still acting recklessly.

A flash of annoyance crossed Clark's eyes.

He took one last deep look at the inhuman creature, then disappeared into the base deep underground, the five-star general completely unconcerned.

"What a bunch of bastards!" Superman returned to the surface from the underground base with a grim face, his red boots crushing a piece of concrete marked with radiation on the scorched earth. Lois ran up to him, but was startled by her husband's rare expression of anger—his usually gentle blue eyes were now churning with a storm like a Kansas tornado.

"What happened? Was the nuclear bomb really stolen?"

Louise went to meet him and immediately noticed that something was wrong with her husband.

"They sold the nuclear bombs." Clark's voice, as if carved from a glacier, was cold and tinged with helplessness. "Openly and honestly, right before my eyes."

Louise dropped the recorder from her hand.

The night wind blew Louise's blonde hair, revealing her pale face.

"Oh my god. What if this gets reported?"

She didn't finish her sentence, just as she thought she could seize on a news story, but in reality, she knew that such a story could never be published.

“We can’t tell the public about this. The media is all under the control of America’s deep government, including the newspapers you and I work for.” Louise staggered a step, leaning against the dilapidated wall, rubbing her temples hard with her fingers, as if trying to crush this absurd reality.

"Yes."

Clark pulled open his collar.

Take a deep breath.

It felt as if the iconic "S" logo was burning his skin. Hearing this, Louise also felt somewhat powerless. She rubbed her temples and hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Perhaps we should inform our friend in Gotham.” Lois felt Superman should tell Bruce about this, as Bruce also had some influence within the Deep Government. Or rather, whether Bruce Wayne liked it or not, given his corporation and influence, he was essentially a member of the Deep Government.

"Until that God thing is resolved, Bruce will probably be out of contact for a while." Clark gave a wry smile, took out his phone, and pressed speed dial.

Bruce Wayne's carefully recorded voice immediately came through the speaker.

"Hello, this is Wayne Manor. Please leave a message if you need anything. However, the audacious Kent family should refrain from leaving messages, as Alfred will periodically delete any offensive language."

Clark stared at his phone. He dialed again, hung up, and dialed again, but no matter how many times he tried, it was always the same cold, recorded message. This was something Clark had already noticed.

"To avoid me having to look for him, he's living like a ghost now; I can't find him at all." Clark put his phone back in his pocket, utterly exasperated.

He had previously asked Wonder Woman to help him contact Bruce Wayne. Wonder Woman did manage to contact Bruce, but after explaining the situation, she ran into trouble.

Wonder Woman has also been blacklisted by Bruce Wayne.

In the wind over the ruins.

Clark was somewhat exhausted.

“Clark, I want to eat something…” Louise sighed, rubbing her sore eyes. Compared to Ian’s situation, she was actually more worried about the military’s actions.

It was said to be sold to qualified buyers.

They dare to sell even strategic deterrent weapons. Who knows how much truth these guys have in their mouths? Who knows, one day those hundred-plus nuclear bombs might become deadly weapons in the hands of terrorists.

"Okay, let's go somewhere else." Clark looked at his wife's worried and tired face and nodded with heartache. He knew that his wife wanted to drink some malt beverage.

“Although I can’t get drunk, right now, I really wish I could.” Clark had never envied someone who could get drunk so much. He carried his wife and soared into the sky, leaving the desolate ruins behind.

Even if it wasn't destroyed, it might still be a filthy place.

As the saying goes, out of sight, out of mind. Five minutes later, the two changed out of their battle uniforms and formal attire, put on ordinary casual clothes, and walked into a 24-hour fast food restaurant.

The fluorescent tubes buzzed above Clark's head.

The lighting was dim, and the air was filled with the aroma of French fries and coffee. Louise bought sixty cans of beer and ten bottles of strong ale. The clerk behind the counter was yawning as he filled their trays with fries, completely unaware that the man in the plaid shirt was the same person featured in the poster on the wall.

The two sat in a corner booth, silent, simply drinking. Louise drank one glass after another, while Clark sipped slowly, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings warily.

This was certainly not about checking on the situation inside the restaurant, but rather about keeping an eye on other parts of the Earth. He still hadn't given up searching for the woman who had previously caused him to fall into a coma.

"All media."

Louise downed her third glass of tequila, then slammed the glass down on the plastic table.

"We, including ourselves, are all lying."

She had clearly fallen into a drunken state again. Soon, she leaned back in her chair, her eyes glazed, and murmured, "Did we...do we do something wrong?"

"Why has the world become like this...?"

This is entering a mode of philosophical thinking.

Clark silently chewed on his hamburger, or perhaps it wasn't just the hamburger—Kryptonians have an equally invincible digestive system, so he could swallow the wrapper along with it without getting diarrhea.

Superman was clearly a little distracted, his mind racing with analysis.

"Our reporter brings you live coverage."

At that moment, CNN was broadcasting news of the Egyptian pyramid explosion on TV, but what really caught his attention was the strange little shrine at the bottom of the screen.

A tiny Superman statue was placed in front of fries and ketchup.

Like a kind of postmodern offering.

"What's going on?"

Clark pointed to the area below the television and asked a student he knew who was cleaning. The student had an Asian face, which was quite common in this country.

"Oh, you don't know? That's the guardian deity of the metropolis. You can't go wrong with believing in him a little." The waiter was a young man wearing glasses, busy wiping tables and sweeping up trash on the floor.

"Patronus?"

Clark was somewhat surprised.

He was unaware of when such worship had become popular in Metropolis, and Superman was not particularly happy about being worshipped by others.

"Yes! I bought it in Black Thunderbolt's live stream, it was 9.9 yuan with free shipping, and Walmart's Plastic Bag Superman delivered it personally. Do you know Black Thunderbolt and Walmart's Plastic Bag Superman?"

"Many lesser-known superheroes are selling these, as well as cushions and car keychains—all copyrighted, and blessed by Walmart's Plastic Bag Superman himself."

The waiter gave a warm introduction.

His words silenced Clark. When he asked the waiter, Clark had already realized something was wrong, but he hadn't realized it was this bad.

"Live streaming? Selling goods?"

Clark's eyelids, the corners of his mouth, and every part of his body with skin was twitching slightly as he heard from the other person about activities that superheroes had never done before.

Aren't you watching the live stream?

The waiter enthusiastically opened a certain app.

"This is the newly revamped [Superhero Popularity Center]! For ten dollars, you can watch superheroes fight bad guys in real life, and you can even tip the superheroes."

"Although only some obscure superheroes are reluctantly doing live streams right now, I think this is bound to be the future trend. Superheroes need to eat too."

"Just imagine, an ordinary person like me, actually being able to throw money at superheroes and have them call me family. That would be amazing." The waiter clearly had contributed a lot of Franklin to Ian's platform.

"..."

Clark took the bottle from Louise's hand.

Cheers!

Although he didn't speak, his silence spoke volumes; his emotions were all in the wine. Meanwhile, the waiter continued his incessant chatter, trying to persuade the out-of-touch middle-aged man to buy his drink.

"Oh, and there's Walmart Plastic Bag Superman and his slightly aloof Superman brother. They don't stream, but for just $100 you can get Walmart Plastic Bag Superman to let you touch his pectoral muscles!"

"For a thousand dollars, Walmart's Plastic Bag Superman can supposedly take you for a ride in the sky. Every Saturday and Sunday, Walmart's Plastic Bag Superman will be there on the other side of the bridge to pick up customers."

He scrolled to the top of the album.

"Look, this is the group photo we took yesterday!"

In the photo, a "Superman" dressed in a cheap cosplay outfit is seen hugging a waiter and making a V-sign. The "S" logo on his chest is crooked, as if it had been chewed by a dog. Even more shockingly, he has "Walmart Plastic Bag Superman" written on his face.

Only Clark, whose emotions were in turmoil, knew that it was clearly a "uniform" that Jordan had made himself from supermarket shopping bags, with a pre-sale advertisement for Ian's greatest technological product printed on the hood.

Jordan's clothes also had the words "Advertising space for rent" written on them.

That level of calligraphy skill.

It's definitely Ian's handwriting again; they even skipped the printed version and just used whatever ink they had at home—a powerful alliance of business geniuses.

"Crunch, crunch, crunch~"

Clark's fists clenched so tightly under the table they cracked, even more so than in the underground base. These days, for a middle-aged superhero, the greatest enemy might not be Doomsday.

Instead, they are the hidden dragon and the young phoenix in the family.

Clark stared at the group photo on the waiter's phone, his pupils trembling violently. In the photo, Jordan's smug face was covered by a cheap plastic bag hood, and the crooked "S" drawn on his chest with a marker looked like a twitching earthworm.

"You don't need to envy me."

The waiter misread Clark's expression and lowered his voice mysteriously, "What we should really envy is the lucky person who won the grand prize in yesterday's raffle after taking a photo with Walmart's Plastic Bag Superman—the grand prize is the original manuscript of 'My Superman Father,' which Pantyhose Superman found in the basement he rented before his death!"

The waiter sighed.